


Eh? Nani?

by WhisperOfWarmth



Category: saigenos - Fandom, ワンパンマン | One-Punch Man
Genre: Confused Saitama, Cute Genos, Dinner, Eventual Fluff, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Funny, I Ship It, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Oblivious Saitama, Out of Character, Pining Saitama, Sorry Not Sorry, Speed O' Sound Sonic - Freeform, one-punch man, saigenos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-23 12:10:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17683190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperOfWarmth/pseuds/WhisperOfWarmth
Summary: Saitama and the enigmatic cyborg, Genos, have been living together for almost half a year. At first, it takes Saitama a long time to get used to the quiet, serious blonde that's declared himself Saitama's pupil. But, like everything else in life, he gets used to Genos' constant presence ... even if he's not quite happy with it. So naturally, when Genos gets sent on a week-long mission by the Hero's Association, Saitama can't help but breathe a little sigh of relief: finally, some ALONE time! This is exactly what he's been waiting for, all this time!.... or IS it?





	Eh? Nani?

“Hey, can you keep it down?”, Saitama asked, rolling his eyes.

“Sorry, Sensei,” Genos replied, standing and going into the bathroom. When he was gone, Saitama let out a little sigh and shook his head. It was always the tendency of Genos to begin speaking overly loud on the phone whenever something excited him or caught his interest, which, for the most part, Saitama didn’t mind ... EXCEPT when it interrupted his favorite tv shows, like it was doing now.

Genos returned a few moments later, and went to the little closet where he kept his things. He pulled out a large duffle bag and knelt on the floor with it.

“Going somewhere?”

“Yes, Sensei,” Genos nodded, neatly tucking shirts into the bag. “The Hero Association called; apparently there’s an outbreak of Dragon-level monsters causing problems in City F. The Association is sending myself, Tatsumaki, Pri-Pri Prisoner, Superalloy Darkshine, and Atomic Samurai to dispatch the monsters, then help with the city reconstruction. They expect us to take about a week to resolve everything.”

“City F, huh?”, Saitama said, not looking away from the television. “I’ve heard that there’s this supermarket there in the northern suburbs, that always has really good sales on meat. If it’s not destroyed, on your way back, see if you can find me some good deals, would you? I’ll pay you back.”

“Yes, Sensei,” Genos replied. He had finished folding the last of his shirts, and he carefully arranged the handful into the (somewhat overstuffed) bag. After he managed to fit everything inside, he zipped it up, and stood, hoisting it to his shoulders.

“Very well then, Sensei. I will return in one week’s time. I will send you a message if I come across anything that I feel to be of interest to Sensei.”

Saitama yawned stretched. “Yeah, Yeah. Have a good trip. Try not to send messages unless it’s REALLY important; I plan to catch up on my sleep this week.”

“Yes, Sensei. Goodbye.”

“And watch yourself around Prisoner. Tatsumaki, too. Oh, hell, ALL of them.”

—-

“Fresh fish! Fresh fish! Caught this morning-good prices!”

“Hand-picked produce from the finest gardens in all of Z-City!”

“Sale! Sale! Only 500 yen!”

Saitama adjusted his reusable cloth shopping bag on his arm, his eyes busily taking in the various stalls around him. He usually wasn’t one to come to these outdoor markets, preferring to do his shopping in the grocery store. But today, the vendors had set up shop just a few blocks from his home, so Saitama thought he’d take a look around and see if he could spot any good bargains.

“Okay, Genos, you circle around that side, and I’ll go down this one. Then we’ll —“

He stopped himself, clapping a hand to his mouth in surprise. This was the third time this morning that he’d started speaking aloud to Genos, only to remember that Genos was still away on his trip.

He saw a small boy holding his mother’s hand, licking a candy and staring at the unusual sight of the bald-headed man talking to himself. Saitama awkwardly waved to him, and the kids mother tightened her grip on her son’s hand and dragged him off to a fruit stall several yards away. 

As Saitama walked among the vendors, checking out prices and deals, he had to wonder: when was the last time he’d gone shopping on his own? He felt rather like a lost dog, wandering aimlessly about. Genos always had such an efficient way of scoping out the most methodical routes, as well as finding the best deals. Not to mention being amusing to talk to.

“Five fish, 200 yen!”, came a cry from a stand to his left, snapping Saitama out of his inner musings. 

“What kind of fish is this, old timer?” Saitama asked, peering at the variety of fishes strung in lines above their heads.

“Sole, perch, and catfish, my young friend,” the man, a large-bellied bearded man, said, smiling. “Five of the same kind, or mix and match, 200 yen!”

“They must be really old, to be so cheap.”

“Nonsense! Caught fresh just this morning! Come on, you won’t find a deal like this anywhere else!”

So Saitama relented, and purchased 5 large catfish from the man. He stood watching as each fish was wrapped in thick newspapers, thinking to himself about what vegetables to go with them.

“Genos will love this,” he said out-loud, smiling. “He says all things taste the same to him, but whenever we have catfish he asks for seconds.”

“Pardon?”, the merchant asked, as he finished the last fish.

Embarrassed that he had been talking to himself yet again, and that he had (also again) forgotten that Genos was gone, he just shook his head and placed the fish in his bag.

Later that night, he looked at the fish, and found that he had no appetite whatsoever. 

“I’m sure they’ll keep in the fridge until tomorrow night,” he told himself, placing the fish in a bed of ice. Then, although it was early, he dimmed all the lights and went and laid down on his mat, thinking that a nap might snap him out of whatever funk he seemed to be in.

Instinctively, he glanced over at the corner, which is where Genos usually sat when Saitama was in bed. Sometimes he’d scribble in his notebook, sometimes he’d watch one of Saitama’s movies with the volume turned down low ...

... but of course, tonight the corner was empty

“Wait — what is wrong with me?”, he asked himself, flipping over to the opposite side of the mat. “Why am I thinking so much about him?”

He looked slowly around the place. For some reason, it seemed dimmer than usual. And cold.

And messy.

In the 4 days since Genos had been gone, Saitama had let the place get quite dirty. A pile of socks and underwear were strewn beneath the window, there was a ripe pile of dishes centered around his pallet on the floor ... and the smell was getting harder to ignore.

“I guess I’ve been taking him for granted a little bit,” he said to himself, hardly aware that he was speaking out-loud. He hasn’t really realized before, how efficient the blonde was in keeping everything in the little place neat and orderly.

Saitama couldn’t explain it to himself, no matter how hard he tried, but ... he was lonely. He thought about going out and finding Mumen Rider, as the man was always willing to buy him a drink, but found the idea to be wholly unappealing to him. He wasn’t lonely for company in general ... he was lonely for Genos.

He laid back on his mat, pulling his blanket to to his chin. Maybe a nap would help clear his, and make some sense out of his feelings. But as he tried hard to fall asleep, instead, he began thinking of a conversation he’d had several months back with Dr. Kuseno, the old man who Genos went to for upgrades and repairs.

The time Saitama had met him, it had been for repairs. Extensive ones. It had been after the arduous battle with the Deep Sea King, and Genos had been literally falling apart. Saitama, worried, had insisted on taking Genos to the doctor himself, rather than wait for the ambulance. When they had arrived, even the doctor seemed surprised by the extent of Genos’ injuries, and he ‘put him to sleep’ while he made his repairs.

“Will he be alright?”

The old man had nodded, while digging into a small leather bag for more tools. “Genos is much stronger than he looks, Saitama-sama. Speaking of strong; Genos speaks all the time on YOUR unbelievable strength. He clearly admires it a great deal. I’d love to know what your secret is.”

Saitama had just rolled his eyes and chuckled. No matter how often he repeated his training regiment to others, nobody ever took his words at face value. Everyone always believed it was something more, some secret that he kept to himself. Explaining himself got to be tedious. So instead of answering the question, he changed the subject.

“I never asked him this, because I’m never sure whether he’d be offended or not, but since he’s taking a little nap right now — just how human IS Genos?”

Dr. Kuseno looked up from his tweaking, a confused expression on his face. “What do you mean?”

“Well, at home he never seems to need to sleep. I can hear him at any hour of the night if I happen to wake up. He doesn’t need sleep but he eats; but he always says that he has no real food preferences. Why is that?”

“Ah. Well, I’ve modified his sensory system so that he is able to taste, but his digestion system works differently from ours. All food or drink is instantly turned into a liquid that his body automatically converts into extra energy, which in turn adds a power-boost to the rest of his systems. I would say it’s like gasoline to a car, but that’s not quite true. Cars without gasoline would be totally incapable of movement. Genos could go for years without eating, but his internal systems would keep him functioning regardless.”

“What about organs?”

“He lost 2/3 of his lungs from the attack when he was a teenager, and his heart wasn’t in the best shape either. I replaced the lungs with artificial ones, and repaired his human heart. It’s encased by the strongest alloy known to man. Same with his brain, and his reproductive organs.”

“Reproductive organs?”, Saitama had repeated, his interest peaked. “You mean he still has his, um, his —“

“Yes, yes,” the doctor agreed absently. “He was quite concerned about that, as one would imagine a young man would be.”

“As _any_ man would be,” Saitama said, grinning. Then he changed the subject and asked,

“He’s not much one for emotions, though, is he? I mean, I’ve seen him excited, and angry, but not really much else.”

“That is a personal choice of his, my boy. He’s perfectly capable of showing a complete range of human emotion. Why, he could even cry, should the mood strike him.” 

“Cry? I can’t picture Genos doing that.”

“Well, it’s possible, regardless. You know, I’m quite pleased that he’s found you, Saitama-san. Genos ... he’s been focused on his goal of vengeance for so long, now, and that kind of single-mindedness can drive a man insane. But now it seems he’s broadened his purpose. He’s a registered hero, and he has friends. Maybe a bit more, eh?”

“More? What do you mean, more?”

But at that moment, Genos began to stir, stopping the conversation in its tracks. Saitama hadn’t thought any more about it ... until now.

“He said, maybe more. Does that mean that, even back then, HE thought, that —“

He shook his head, and turned over on his side. “Just go to sleep,” he told himself, frustrated. After a long while, he did.

—-

Saitama woke up the next morning with the sun shining in his face, and a renewed sense of vigor. He got himself dressed, then began to clean the mess around him. He started a load of laundry, he picked up and washed the dishes, he took out the trash and vacuumed.

“Not bad,” he said aloud to himself, as he pushed the rickety machine back and forth on the worn carpet. “Almost as good as Genos does —“

He stopped himself, and was surprised by the flood of sadness that went through him, at the mention of Genos. He switched off the vacuum and sat back down, turning on his tv. The news was on, a Special Report on the situation in City F.

“ ... and it seems the crisis has finally been averted. After a hard-fought battle with some of the Hero Associations most noble warriors, the final monster has been vanquished, and City F is clear for the first time in months. We go live now to one of the heroes, Miss Tatsumaki, for comment.”

Saitama closed his eyes as the small woman began to speak; Tornado had a voice like a high-pitched siren, and listening to it for too long was sure to result in a headache.

When he opened his eyes again, she was still speaking, but now the camera was moving in a slow sweep over the other heroes in the background. Saitama’s heart involuntarily leapt, when the camera passed over Genos’ face. The sun was shining off of his arms, and the breeze blew his hair back from his face.

 _My God, he looks good. Handsome, even,_ he though to himself, and immediately blushed. What was he saying?? _Handsome_? Genos?

The report ended, and Saitama clicked off the tv and looked up at the clock. Somehow, the morning had passed in the blink of an eye, and it was already mid-afternoon. He got up and went into the kitchen, deciding to begin preparing his food for dinner. He’d decided to make a catfish hotpot, and he stood at the counter, chopping up bits of cabbage and carrots.

But, yet again, he found himself thinking of Genos. Wondering what monsters he’d personally defeated. Picturing how his face looked as he delivered his deadly moves. Thinking of —

“Damn!”, he exclaimed, realizing that he’d missed a carrot and had brought the blade down on his finger instead. His finger wasn’t bleeding ... but now the knife was bent. And this was his good knife, too.

“I guess it’s just not my day,” he told himself, as he set all the ingredients in the pot to simmer. He also noticed another mistake he’d made; he was so used to cooking for two, that he’d used all of the fish, instead of the appropriate portion for one person.

“Leftovers,” he told himself, as he carried the pot into the living room and set it on the small low table between the mats he and Genos usually ate on. “Even though stuff like fish never tastes as good the second day. Still, it —“

Saitama’s own thought was interrupted. The higher-function part of his brain was giving him an alert; something was approaching his apartment building at a very high speed.

He sighed, then went and pulled open his door, surprising the intruder, who had been a split second away from kicking the door down. He was clearly thrown off by the unexpected interception, the look on his face almost comical.

“Hello, Panic.”

The man sneered, his eyes glowing. “It’s Speed O’ Sound Sonic, SONIC, you jackass!”

“Right, right. Okay, Sonic. So you’ve finally figured out where I live, eh? Well, I’m sorry, but I’m just about to eat dinner, so —“

“This is almost too easy. Normally I’d have your guard-robot to worry about, but it seems you’re alone. What’s the matter; afraid to face me without the cyborg present?”

“Look,” Saitama said calmly, walking back to his food and sitting back down. “I get it. I get that you hate me, you want to kill me, all of that. But Sonic, today, I am not in the mood. So how about, just for today, we cut out the nonsense, you sit down, and eat with me? Put down the sword, sit and eat, or I stand back up, and unleash the full extent of my strength on you into you’re nothing out a stain on my carpet. Agreed?”

“Is that a threat?!”, Sonic demanded, bristling all over. “You think you can intimidate me? You —“

“Nobody said anything about intimidation! All I asked was for you to share a meal with me. It’s a simple request made by one simple human to another simple human. That’s all.”

He lifted the lid off of the pot, picked up the spoon and stirred it around. The delicious smell of the food immediately flooded the room, almost as strong as one of Sonic’s exploding shurikens. Involuntarily, Sonic’s stomach growled, loud enough for both men to hear it.

“Come on,” Saitama said, pointing to the mat in front of him. “Sit. Eat. It’s good. Catfish, noodles, celery, carrots, and dumplings. Come sit down, and shut that door; you’re letting in a draft, and I can’t afford to turn on the heat yet.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Sonic did as asked. He closed the door, tucked his sword back into its sheath, and sat cross-legged on the mat across from Saitama. Saitama smiled and pushed an empty plate across the table towards him, telling him to help himself.

“Have you poisoned this?”, Sonic asked, his eyes warily taking in the pot before him. 

“No. See?,” he asked, taking a bite out of a chunk of fish. “It’s fine.”

“How do I know you haven’t trained your own stomach to be immune to poisons?”

“You think way too much of me, and yourself, if you think I’d put the time and effort into ruining food like that, just to kill you.”

Finally, Sonic put a small ladleful on his plate, mumbled a _Itadakimasu_ , then took a tentative bite.

“This is good,” Sonic had to admit, helping himself to more from the pot. “But just because it’s good doesn’t make us friends. Tonight is an exception. After this, it’s business as usual.”

“Agreed,” Saitama replied, shoving another dumpling in his mouth. This WAS good. Possibly the best he’d ever made. Genos was right, about adding more ...

Saitama shook his head at himself in frustration. Here he was, thinking about Him again. 

“So where IS the robot tonight?”, Sonic asked, as if reading Saitama’s mind. Saitama scowled and heaped even more noodles onto his already over-loaded plate. 

“Don’t call him that,” he told the ninja through a full mouth. “He’s not a robot. He’s ... he’s the warmest person I’ve ever met, artificial parts or not. _Human_ or not.”

“Sorry. Didn’t know you were so sensitive about him.”

“I’m not.”

Changing the subject, Sonic observed, “Such a small apartment for a hero. You’d think that Hero Association would take better care of its employees.”

“They do, for A class and above. I’m only B class, so —“

“But the robo— er, Genos, He’s S-class, right?”

“Yeah.”

“He could probably have a penthouse or something, right? So why is he cramped in here with you?”

Saitama just shrugged, taking another bite of his food. Realizing he needed liquid, he got to his feet. He noted with amusement that he could feel all of Sonic’s muscles tense up, likely thinking that Saitama was getting ready to attack him.

“Relax. I’m just thirsty. Do you want a beer or something?”

Sonic nodded, relaxing a bit. He also took the opportunity to put more on his plate. Saitama thought about that as he went to the kitchen; Sonic always claimed to spend all of his time training, and Saitama could see that was true. But did he remember to _eat_? He was so skinny, and here he was eating a meal with the man he’d declared to be his enemy, as if his body wasn’t allowing him to refuse the chance of food.

He brought the beer back out and placed it in front of Sonic.

“So, the weekend is coming up. You got any plans?”

Sonic visibly flinched at the words, as if unused to anyone making casual conversation with him.

“Training.”

“Thinking of more ways to kill me, eh?”

“Something like that.”

“When do you relax? Veg out? Do nothing?”

“Never.”

“Huh. Well, if ... if you ever want someone to do nothing with, you’re welcome to come here. Genos won’t like that, naturally, and if I don’t stop him beforehand he’ll try to take you down, but —“

Unable to help it, Sonic was smiling. Nobody in this world was ever friendly to him, or made him such casual offers as this. Saitama didn’t know it, but Sonics opinion of him had changed, by a hundredth of a degree. Just a bit, but ...

He quickly changed his facial expression, and said, “Genos is certainly protective of you, isn’t he? Foolish, considering you can obviously take care of yourself. He must feel a great deal of care for you.”

“I suppose.”

“We’re still not friends,” Sonic said, wiping his mouth. “But if we WERE, and if you were asking for my opinion, I’d tell you this: just let him know how you feel.”

“W-What?”

“It’s obvious, how you think of him. So just tell him.”

Before Saitama could ask for clarification, Sonic stood up. “Thank you, for the meal. But I was serious; tomorrow it goes back to business as usual. And now that I know where you live —“

“I’ll expect you to drop in on me more,” Saitama said, standing and walking Sonic to the door. “Whether to kill me, or to do nothing. But I’ll be on guard for either scenario.”

Sonic nodded, stepping out into the hall. Before he left, he turned and said, “Remember what I said, about the robot,” and then he disappeared in a flash.

Saitama took his time cleaning up, thinking.

—-

The afternoon that Genos came back, Saitama was up and waiting for him. He felt himself flush a dark red when he heard the key turning in the lock, but he forced himself to stand up, his heart thumping.

“Sensei, I have returned,” Genos said, stepping into the door and closing it behind himself. His bag was slung over one arm, and in his other was a large wooden box. “I found Sensei an excellent deal on this crate of freshwater crabs. They —“

In a lightning-quick movement, Saitama was across the length of the apartment and directly in front of Genos. The blonde blinked and took a step back, startled. 

“Sensei, what —“

Taking a deep breath, Saitama timidly reached one hand out, then the other, cupping Genos’ cheeks. It was surprising, how warm and soft Genos’ skin was. In spite of how nervous he felt, Saitama couldn’t help but smile a bit, at the bewildered expression on the cyborg’s face. 

Before he could lose his nerves all the way, Saitama leaned in and kissed him. Genos’ lips were even softer than his cheeks had been, and they had a tangy, sweet taste to them, something akin to candied apples or berry tarts.

When Saitama could make himself pull away, he looked into Genos’ eyes with fear. What was his reaction going to be? Anger? Disgust? What could he possibly be thinking, after —

And suddenly, Genos was gripping Saitama’s face, and kissing _him_. His hands were cold but his lips were warm, and the dizzying duality of sensation had Saitama nearly swooning.

Finally, after what seemed like much too soon, the kiss ended, and the two pulled slightly back from each other. Saitama let out a very soft gasp; Genos was SMILING. Since the day they had met he had known Genos to always be serious, and sober. The most he would get out of him would be an occasional lopsided smirk, after having won a battle or perfecting a new fighting technique. But this, this radiant look — it was breathtaking, almost overwhelming, in its utter beauty.

A few moments of quiet passed between them, and then Genos was saying, again, “I’m home, Sens—Saitama.”

“Welcome home, Genos. I’ve missed you.”

He put his arms around him and hugged him tightly, ending with a kiss on the cheek before letting go.

“Come on; bring those crabs to the kitchen. I’ll cook us up a hot-pot while you tell me all about your trip,” Saitama said, holding out his hand. Genos took his extended hand, balancing the crate of crabs in the crook of his other arm as he let himself be pulled into the kitchen.

It was good to be home.


End file.
